


One rainy night

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges after 3x7, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Love Confessions, Mild Smut, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 14:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: The Harrenhal party is forced to seek refuge in an inn on a rainy night. One of Steelshanks' men gets drunk and provokes Brienne. Jaime takes it upon himself to intervene.





	One rainy night

“There’s an inn at the end of this road,” Steelshanks shouted at the top of his voice, struggling to make himself heard amidst the frequent claps of thunder. “We can stop there for the night.” Sheets of rain poured down on them, drenching them in mere seconds, and by the time they had trudged up the street and past the gates of their shelter, they were soaked to the skin. 

Once the negotiations with the innkeep were done, the keys were handed out, and the men quickly distributed themselves among all the available rooms, save one, which Brienne obviously was expected to share with Jaime. 

“Upstairs,” Jaime informed, pointing to the staircase, expecting her to accompany him, but her feet turned to stone, and she couldn’t move, a sudden chill that had nothing to do with her wet clothes, numbing her limbs. Countless nights, she’d spent in his company, lying beside him in the midst of wilderness, forced to listen to his cutting remarks and incessant chatter, yet the nervousness she now felt was strangely intimidating.

“Come along, wench,” he called again, restlessness trickling through his voice, “unless you want to spend the night here.”

Anxiously searching her mind for ways to counter the newly-acquired uneasiness she’d begun to feel in Jaime’s presence, she was about to follow him, when there came a loud whistle from behind her.

“Go on,” slurred one of their escorts, clearly inebriated and out of control. “I know you’ve been lookin’ forward to this.” A sly glint in them, his eyes danced across to Jaime. “As for the Kingslayer--” the man broke into a lop-sided grin “--he’s been wanting to fuck you for ages. I can see it in his eyes--”

Her first instinct was to land a blow to the man’s jaw and gift herself the satisfaction of knocking out his teeth, but before she could react, Jaime sprung to action, putting himself between her and her offender. “If I were you, I’d watch my words,” he warned, his tone soft and his eyes the calm before the storm. “I’m sure you’ve seen what she’s capable of. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of her.”

The threat barely worked, for the man was far from intimidated. “You appear to know her _ very _ well, Kingslayer,” he drawled. “The sparks that fly between you two, _ gods _\--” he mock-fanned himself, throwing Brienne a lecherous look. “How is it that you haven’t bedded her yet?” A second after he’d expressed his disgusting wonder, his brows met in a suspicious frown. “Or have you? You’ve fucked her--”

“Unless you want to reap the sweet rewards of your insults, why don’t you be a good lad and shut your mouth, hmm?” barked Jaime, losing his composure. “And rinse it clean of such dirty ideas. She’s a highborn lady. I respect her and so should you.”

“Of course,” jeered the drunk, still unperturbed. “I was mistaken. A pretty boy like you wouldn’t go near a creature like that--”

“Give me that,” snapped Brienne, grabbing the key from Jaime’s hand. Not wanting to witness any more of this lousy exchange, she dashed up the stairs, shutting her ears and her mind from the conversation, his words, though, continuously pounding her head.

_ I respect her. _

That was all they shared. That was all it would ever be. And that was why he’d saved her twice. So disgusting, he found her, that he couldn’t even stand the suggestion of bedding her, taking offence at it, retaliating in the blink of an eye. Disappointment and unexpected anguish stabbed her brain and jabbed at her heart, jerking her mind awake to feelings that had been buried under her resentment for him - resentment that had, not long ago, been chased away, unleashing something else on her unsuspecting heart, something deeper, something she didn’t want to put a name to. 

Something, she feared, might stick to her like a leech and never let go. 

_ A creature like her... _

Of course he wouldn’t want to bed her. What had she been thinking? All her dreams and wild fantasies were just--_ those _ , imaginations and nothing else, stupid girlish illusions that’d end in nothing but heartache. Clutching her chest for breath, she stormed into the room, the conversation repeatedly buzzing across her brain, raining upon her the hard truth, telling her that a man of his beauty would never fall for-- she sniffed-- _wench, _he called her, and that’s what she’d be, an ugly wench who meant nothing to him. A nuisance, she'd till the end be, an irksome travelling companion he was eager to see the back of. 

Itching to get rid of the slush-ridden and soaked gown that now clung to her, she began attacking it, directing all her rage, her frustration, her helplessness and inability to deal with her feelings for him on the wretched garment that deserved to be ripped apart and thrown away.

“Wench!”

Right behind his announcement of his arrival, came an incessant pounding, the door bearing the brunt of his rapidly mounting impatience.

“It’s open,” she grunted, and in he came, shaking his head like the beast he was named after, spraying her and the floor with an unwelcome shower of water.

Careful to keep her eyes off him, she warned, “Watch out,” glad to find a reason to invite an argument with him. Aggressive conversations were a perfect mask for her deepest secrets. They kept her away from the risk of losing control of her emotions, of falling apart in his presence. “You’ll get the whole place damp and slippery,” she complained, critically eyeing the pool of water by his feet. Their initial days of travel seemed a much better deal now. It had been so simple to despise him, to care nothing of his insults and taunts, to prejudice herself against every word he spoke, everything he did. 

Ignoring her protests, he swaggered across the room towards her, and Brienne couldn’t help noticing that even in the sorry state he was, he looked every bit the golden lion he’d been in the sunniest of his days. The proud and authoritative gait, the splendour of his luscious mane, though unkempt and hidden beneath the filth that discoloured it, his brilliant all-perceiving eyes--she could go on all night, admiring him, appreciating every inch of the man he was.

Approaching her, he shifted his weight from his right leg to the left, then clearing his throat, he began, “About what happened downstairs--”

“I don’t want to know,” she cracked, dreading what was to come, “I know what _ you _ think of me, though.”

He squinted to meet her eyes. “You do?”

“Of course, I do,” she cried, her pent up frustration pouring out in a burst. “I’m an ugly wench, aren’t I? That’s all I’ll be to you--”

“Brienne--”

“You respect me and so do I, and you have my gratitude, ser, for saving my life and honour,” she went on in a high-pitched voice she wasn’t used to. 

He opened his mouth again to intervene, “Listen to me, Brienne--”

Emotions blinded her, leaving her incapable of listening to explanations, unwilling to lend him an ear. “I also know that you’d never dream of touching a beast like me,” she kept up her outburst, overcoming the lump obstructing her throat to bare every corner of her insecure mind to him, “so fucking someone like me, no doubt, would be a nightmare for you--”

“Will you shut the fuck up for a minute?” he growled, his eyes spewing angry sparks at her.

She opened her mouth to argue again, to out-shout him into oblivion, but his look softened, and something in it silenced her, made her want to halt and listen to him. When he was sure she wouldn’t attack him again, he stepped towards her. “There’s--” he paused, staring at her chest.

“What?” she whispered, instantly shy and acutely aware of his eyes on her.

“There’s some--something on your--” he stammered, then reached to touch her neck.

She wanted to retreat, to push him away, to keep out of his reach, but her body refused to obey her. “What is it?”

“Mud,” he frowned, deepening his gaze, “it--”

Rage once again returning to burn her insides, she recoiled with a harsh, “Looks ugly, I know. What else would you think of anything about me? What else--”

“Needs to be wiped clean, I was about to say,” he explained, tone soft and eyes deflated and hurt, not unlike that of a wounded beast. “But I’ll leave you to--” Lowering his hand, he backed away, but before he could hide his face, her attention was drawn to something that wasn’t there earlier.

“What’s that?” she demanded, pointing to the angry cut above his brow.

“Nothing,” he evaded, then wheeled around in haste, but she was quick enough to grab his arm.

“Nothing?” The wound was something he’d obviously acquired at the inn, downstairs, after she'd left. “Come here,” she ordered, then tearing off a string of cloth along the tattered portion of her dress, she gently began wiping the blood away. “You were alone,” she scolded, agitated when she pictured the ghastly consequences the unnecessary altercation might have resulted in, “handless and weaponless. Those men are ruthless animals. They could’ve cut off your other hand, they might have broken your leg--” She breathed deeply, gulping down her distress, exerting herself to calm down. “Was there a need to--”

“He called you my whore,” he snarled, then toning down, he related the rest, “and many other things I’d rather not speak of in front of a lady,” he said, his disgust apparent in his eyes.

“I don’t care what they think of me,” she said, her anger melting away at the knowledge that he had, yet again, stood up for her.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then slowly asked, “What about what I think, wench?”

“I know what you think of me. You've told me so,” she softly uttered, making quite a chore of cleaning the cut. “A great lumbering--” 

His fingers enclosed her wrist before she could draw away, and she stopped talking, the long-winded speech she’d planned in her head crumbling away before it could progress into words. With another swift step in her direction, his hand left hers to rest on her neck. “Brienne,” he whispered, gently massaging her neck, targeting the blot of grime she couldn’t see, “you know nothing of what I think about you, the only thing occupying your head, a few bloody assumptions and your preconceived notions.”

“I’ve made no assumptions.” she breathed, her body bursting into flames when he trailed down her chest to meddle with her laces. “You hate me.”

Men seldom had an impact so huge on her, but there were men and there was Jaime Lannister. His eyes on her, his presence around her, his voice filling her ears, his touch scorching her skin - all of it left her yearning for him like the maiden she’d strived not to be. Incapable, she’d become, of fighting her heart, defenceless and vulnerable, unable to ward off the emotions that left her weak-kneed and prone to everything he hurled at her. 

“I used to,” he answered in a hoarse voice, tugging harder at her bodice to loosen the strings that bound her to the useless dress, “not anymore.”

She wanted him to leave her alone, yet desired to spend the night in his arms. She wanted to avert her gaze, yet ached to drown in his. She wanted to withdraw from his touch, yet hoped for his calloused fingers to reduce her to cinders. She wanted him to overpower her, fling her down, tear off her clothes. She wanted him to kiss her, to fuck her, to devour her in ways no other man ever did. 

“Y--you’ve always thought I’m ugly,” she argued, her hands, of their own accord, joining him in the endeavour he was beginning to struggle with.

“I used to,” he said again, his fingers clumsy and restless, yet progressing in their attempt, undressing her, liberating her, telling her that, perhaps, love wouldn't be unkind to her this time. “Not anymore.”

“You wish to spend the rest of your life with your sister,” she voiced her biggest insecurity. “You love her.”

This time there was a pause, heavy and tense, thick with unanswered questions and words unspoken. “I used to,” he whispered, at last, yanking down her sleeve to uncover her shoulder. “Not anymore.”

Her throat suddenly went dry and parched was her entire body, yearning for him, begging for his touch. “Ser Jaime--”

He pressed his mouth to her throat, licking away the stream of water trickling down the column of her neck, trouncing her words, reducing them to nought but a heavy sigh. He sucked her delicate skin, and she stumbled, stunned that he could have so intense an effect on her, her knees wobbly and unstable, threatening to cave in. A hopeless, desperate mess, she was, when he scooped her into his arms, supporting her staggering form, holding her against his body. “Ugly, huh,” he breathed into her red-hot skin, kissing his way to her mouth, while his hand took to ripping away the rest of her gown. “You still believe I think so, Brienne?”

Giving her no opportunity to answer, he captured her lips, burning the mark of his touch into her, claiming her like a man would claim his lady. Everywhere, his hand journeyed, finding its way around her naked body, his damp fingers lazily inspecting every inch of skin he met. A man’s touch, it was, reserved solely for the woman he’d chosen as his mate, a woman he’d share his passions, his desires, his deepest fantasies and _ himself _ with. A little sigh, she responded with, when he coaxed her lips open. An urgent gasp, it turned into, when his teeth dug into her soft skin, and a desperate growl, it rapidly escalated to, when his tongue swept across her mouth, awakening the thirst within her, her shameless need to fuck him consuming her, destroying her will power.

He groped her, his palm kneading her breast, his fingers trapping her nipple, and she bit his tongue, unable to bite back the desire she was exploding with, her body crying out for more of him, impatient for him to do more than just touch or kiss her. He fondled her, he teased her, he pinched her and he feasted on her, his hand and his mouth extracting sounds out of her she’d never known she could produce. Discretion found its way out of the window, joining its siblings - inhibitions and bashfulness, and she threw her arms around him, pulling him to her chest, his rain-soaked clothes, instead of cooling down her smouldering skin, adding fuel to the fire he’d set her on.

When they could persist no more without air in their lungs, they broke the kiss, shaking uncontrollably. “I don’t do this to women I think are ugly,” he panted, “nor do I try to--”

“What?” she prompted, when he paused mid-sentence.

“Wipe smudges off their hot, drenched bodies,” he said, with a teasing grin, then sobering up, he eyed her like no man had ever looked at her before. “You’re so much more desirable when dripping wet, wench,” he rumbled, his voice thick with want as he played with the strands of hair at the base of her neck. “Your sparkling eyes, your rain-soaked lips, your creamy neck, your delicious breasts--” His chest heaving, he glanced down her front, his hungry gaze lingering on every part of her. “Your--_ everything _,” he finished, his eyes settling between her legs.

Her heart leapt. This was going to happen. _ Now _, if she wanted it. 

_ And gods, want it, she did! _

Determined, she enveloped him in an embrace. “I want _ you _, Jaime,” she admitted. “It can never be anyone else. Not now. Not another day. Never.” 

This was it - the beginning, the middle and the end. She was his. She couldn’t bring herself to look at another. And he was hers. His eyes told her all.

Trying not to shiver too much, she peeled off his layers, knowing what she’d uncover, the memory of his god-like body etched in her mind’s eye in all its magnificence, tormenting her since the day he’d bared it all to her, haunting her, mocking her that a beautiful creature like him could never be attracted to her.

“Brienne,” he murmured, when she’d completely unclothed him, drinking her with his eyes, and before she knew it, he’d imprisoned her in his arms. Blinded to everything else, she was, the world dissolving into a barely visible dot when his naked body melted into hers. They tumbled to the bed, their need for one another ousting all else from their heads, their impatience to put each other out of this misery pushing them to breach limits they’d never imagined they would.

They lay there, wrapped in an intimate union, poised to get away on their quest for life and happiness together. Again, he sought custody of what belonged to him - her lips, her body, her heart and her soul. “Jaime,” she softly mouthed, when his mouth seared into hers, and he responded with a deep-throated lusty growl, pinning her down, his hardness pressing into her thighs, waiting to show her the heavens. 

Deepening the kiss, he plunged into her. There came the pain she’d been prepared for, but a fleeting visitor it was, gone before it could make its presence felt, fleeing away to pave the road ahead with pleasure and an experience she’d cherish all her life. 

He pushed, he thrust, he slammed into her, he buried himself in her, filling her with everything he could give her, flooding her mind with fantasies of many more nights like this, infusing her heart with so much love that she feared she might collapse. 

He grunted, and she screamed, he roared and she clung to him in desperation, and together they embarked on this journey towards bliss, surrendering to the beats of passion, the dance their fused bodies engaged in, one she’d remember forever.

_ Fucking, _she’d heard about, and dreamed of it several nights, but this wasn’t just it. A union of lips, it was, but hardly only that. A mating of their bodies, it was, though barely restricted to it. A bond of their souls, it was, and definitely, a lot more than that.

_ Love, _it was, and she came to accept it when they discovered harmony in their movements, their hips swaying as one when she melted into his arms. She gave in when she’d been pushed more than she could withstand, dissolving into her climax, overjoyed and overwhelmed. She thanked the gods for their priceless blessings, and he kissed away her tears of happiness, his tenderness a silent vow that he'd never make her cry.

_ Love, _ it had been for long, for _ him _, and not Renly, the true depth of her affection hitting her hard when he became one with her, shouting her name, shuddering against her body, holding on to her as if she were the dearest thing he possessed.

_ Love, _was Jaime, and no one but him, and none, it would ever be, until the day she passed.

“I love you, Brienne,” he confessed, his mouth enslaving hers, and she whispered the same sweet words to him, kissing him back in deep contentment, a sense of completion she’d never felt all her life raising her to levels of elation she’d never been to before.

_ Love, _by the grace of the Seven, had chosen to stay with her this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another excuse to write an intimate scene, which, I hope, you had fun reading :)


End file.
